Sparklers
by Dragon Ashes
Summary: Word of the Day one-shots. Latest: Pleonasm. Sarah is having a bad day. Her stalker decides to cheer her up.
1. Inveigle

"I said NO!"

"But..."

If Jareth had been a normal man (a human man, rather), he would have stormed out and slammed the door. Fae, Sarah noted from her place on the floor/ceiling, simply dealt with annoyance differently than humans. Instead of wasting time looking petulant, he'd merely removed HER to the Staircase Room...the one that had always reminded her of an Escher portrait in 3D. It was an elegant solution, truly: a casual show of power that both reinforced his authority and gave them the time they each needed to cool down.

In theory, at least.

Jareth was slightly shocked when, not ten seconds after removing his lovely (but sometimes insufferable) fiance, she reappeared right back where she had been standing. Bogdamnit, he would have to talk with the Labyrinth about granting powers to irresponsible humans...again. He pinched the bridge of his nose lightly. "Really, my dear..."

"Jareth, we are GOING to talk this out!"

"I already told you, my dear, the conversation is over. I said no, and I will not go back on my word. Even for you."

When dealing with Fae, Sarah reasoned, one had to be twice as tricky and three times as clever. Otherwise, they ran right over you without fully realizing they did it.

"All right, Jareth. You win."

The surprise on his face was clear.

"Yes, you win. Clearly, I - the poor, weak, helpless human - can't be expected to take care of a child. A human child, no less."

"Sarah..."

"Oh, and I thought you should know that the goblins were given their daily rations of ale about half an hour ago. The population of the Goblin City has likely drunk themselves into a stupor...or did we lower the rations again? Maybe they're still conscious. At any rate, they're probably better babysitters drunk than sober; they're less likely to get into mischief.

"Though I'm not sure what you'll do when you go out to torment-"

"TAUNT, my dear; I don't cause them any lasting harm."

"-the runner. His mother, wasn't it? Yes, I think seeing her baby boy in the hands of the wicked Goblin King will be properly motivating, don't you?"

As if Sarah didn't know that the mother had thrown no less than three small appliances at him when he'd shown up at the tiny apartment where she lived. That the child in question currently had Jareth's hair in a deathgrip and was trying his best to eat it had no bearing on the conversation either.

"Fine, my dear. You have managed to inveigle yourself into a babysitting job. Though I'm not entirely sure why you'd want it, after the way your LAST one went..."

"Afraid I'll meet another handsome Goblin King who will fall madly in love with me and swoop me off to his castle?"

The little boy found himself in the middle of a big pile of pillows. Though not sure where the puffy-haired man who'd been holding him had gone, he contented himself with trying to eat the pillows instead. They sure were tasty.

And, being quite young, he didn't question why the pretty lady who'd been arguing with the man appeared next to him a few moments later, nor why her lips were noticably redder than they had been. Really, the blue pillow was especially delicious...

* * *

><p>Inveigle: to persuade or obtain by ingenuity or flattery.<p>

"Bogdamnit" is, to my knowledge, the invention and intellectual property of Pika-la-Cynique.


	2. Ululate

It was early morning when Sarah finally climbed into her old four-poster bed and pulled up the covers. She guessed it was the latest she'd ever stayed up; it even beat the time she'd eaten three candy bars right before bedtime on a dare.

It was odd. She had apparently been running, climbing, or dancing through a giant maze for the better part of thirteen hours, but she felt more refreshed than tired. The soreness she had felt as she climbed the steps after Toby in her final confrontation with the notorious Goblin King was merely a memory. She almost dismissed it as an overexageration supplied by her exhausted mind, but she had learned the hard way not to assume anything.

Sarah rolled onto her back and freed her hand from the covers. Sure enough, the bite she'd gotten from the fairy near the entrance of the Labyrinth was gone. Though she didn't feel like checking, she was fairly certain that the bumps and bruises she'd suffered when she was dumped into the oubliette were gone as well. She was grateful, sure, but...why?

Memories came floating back to her of a haunting voice in an impossible room. What was it the Goblin King had sung to her? That he had done everything for her? It didn't make sense; done everything _to_ her, perhaps, but _for_ her? It was just a ruse, a last trick to keep her from Toby..wasn't it? There was nothing saying that the Goblin King had to tell the truth...

Except he had, she realized. Oh, he had bent the truth into so many knots that it was almost unrecognizeable - surely there was some Goblin King protocol to keep him from stealing babies that weren't intentionally wished away, right? - but he had never actually said anything that wasn't true. Hoggle, on the other hand, had lied outright to both her and the Goblin King on numerous occasions. He had even told Sarah that it was her fault they had been nearly dumped into the Bog of Eternal Stench. Ha! As if the high-and-mighty Goblin King would care who a little spoiled girl kissed!

That thought hit her harder than she had anticipated, and she rolled back onto her side and tucked her knees up. She _had_ been a spoiled brat...still was, actually. If the Goblin King was telling the truth, he had catered to the whims of a rude, arrogant teenager who knew just barely enough about herself to realize that she knew nothing at all. Why would he do that? What did he hope to get out of his encounter with her? Another goblin? She had seen enough goblins to last a lifetime, and while she still wasn't going to assume anything she doubted one more would make a difference. Likely, there were too many of them as it was.

Later, she would wonder what made her roll over and glance out her window. It was a quiet night. Not even the wind disturbed the trees. It was that pleasant silent period when the nocturnal animals were retreating to their burrows, but even the earliest birds were still asleep on their perches.

Except the owl.

The owl's intense gaze frightened Sarah so much that she actually bolted upright, clutching the covers as a meager shield. At first, she couldn't place just what disturbed her so badly. It was just an owl on the branch right outside her window...right? It probably liked that spot. It probably sat there for hours, staring into the bedroom. She had never seen it before because she wasn't normally awake at such an early hour of the morning. The fact that it was staring _right at her_ was probably just because it was curious.

Another memory flashed before Sarah's inner eye: the Goblin King, dressed in white, throwing a crystal sphere into the air...and flying away. As an owl. A big white barn owl that, if she remembered correctly, eerily resembled the one currently glaring daggers at her.

Sarah pondered this for a moment. She'd beaten him - at his own game, no less - and according to folklore that meant that her parting words to him weren't just words at all. He truly had no power over her, unless she gave him some. She just had to avoid challenging him to another game or inviting him into her house. Was that what he wanted? Was he trying to start a staring contest? Was he trying to glare her into submission? Whatever it was, it was working...she didn't think she could sleep if he was going to be watching her, especially with that expression. She hadn't realized just how angry birds can look if they try.

Suddenly, the owl's eyes left hers. She breathed a sigh of relief; maybe he would fly away? She glanced back at him. She had heard that owls can turn their heads nearly all the way around, but that knowledge didn't prepare her for the disturbing sight he made with his head twisted to a seemingly unnatural angle, watching something behind him.

With a silent rush of feathers, the owl took flight. A larger, darker shadow fell over the tree branch that looked surprisingly empty without him, and then the night was as silent as before. Sarah nestled back under her covers and tried to steady her pounding heart. He was gone, he was gone, he was gone and she didn't have to worry-

An eerie wail pierced the air, sounding more pained and more human that she would have expected from any night animal. Sarah knew sleep would be a long time in coming.

* * *

><p>Ululate: to howl; to wail.<br>Ulula: owl (Latin).


	3. Lionize

"Well, well."

Jareth moved out from behind his desk and circled the gray cat that had appeared, quite without warning, in his sitting room. It growled and bared its tiny teeth at him, obviously displeased with its current circumstances.

"Anything to say for yourself, my dear? You seem to have gotten yourself into a quandary this time."

Really, she was too cute with her soft fur puffed up like that. At least she calmed down enough to sit, though the glare was still in full force (for all the good it did her).

"Cat...got your tongue? I suppose there IS a first time for everything."

The glare intensified.

"Come now. As charming as you look, do change back so we can have a proper chat."

Nothing.

"...Sarah?"

Jareth was becoming concerned now. He'd known - of course - that the creature in his sitting room was none other than Sarah Williams. It was obvious in the tilt of her head, the way her legs were a bit too short and her tail too long (both marks of a shifter-in-training; a bit of practice would resolve those little problems), the constant twitching of her ears that signaled a lack of experience in her new form. Sarah Williams had been experimenting with her magic in the years since she ran the Labyrinth, but this was the most complicated piece of magic he'd seen her actually accomplish. (She'd tried to give a rather nasty girl at her school green hair once and wound up turning the entire school blue, but that didn't count as an accomplishment.)

(Teleportation didn't count, either, since her magic was Labyrinth-bound and came home when called like a wayward child. Teleportation for Sarah Williams was - though he cringed at the phrase - a piece of cake.)

Sighing, the Goblin King probed her magic gently. It ebbed and flowed normally; she wasn't damaging herself, though it appeared she was either unwilling or unable to change back. He glanced down at Sarah.

Sarah was still glaring at him.

A scrawny blue goblin suddenly burst into the room, ignoring (once again) Royal Proclamation 512: No Goblins in Kingy's Sitting Room. "Kingy!" the goblin shrieked, pointing at Sarah. "It's a fuzzything! Cans we keeps it? Is it tasty?"

"That is NOT dinner, Grem. That," he sighed, "Is the Lady Sarah. She's visi-"

"Ooooooh!" Grem edged closer to Sarah, eyeing her claws warily. Sarah, for her part, seemed unconcerned with the goblin...which, really, showed a lack of self-preservation on her part. "Hi, Lady Sarah! Yous gonna dance with kingy again? Was pretties, it was! Goblins lika Goblin King dancin'!"

Grem then proceeded to throw himself around the room on his toes, swaying dangerously every few steps, in what Jareth belatedly realized was a horrific mutation of a waltz.

"Grem, you will cease THIS INSTANT, or I will-"

Luckily for the little goblin, the king's threat was interrupted by the arrival of half a dozen more breakers of Royal Proclamation 512. "Is Lady Sarah!" Grem announced importantly. "Lady that ate the peach and danced with Kingy!"

The other goblins caught on slowly. "And wished away baaaybee!"

"And had big fight in the city!"

"And stole Kingy's liver!"

All eyes turned to the last speeker, a horrid orange and yellow mass of fuzz with a horned helmet perched atop what must have been its head. Two stick-thin arms appeared out of the fur, waving madly. "Er...no...stole Kingy's spleen?"

"No, stuuupid, stole Kingy's lungs! That's why he no sing no more!"

"Nonono, his kidney!"

"His hypothalymus!"

"His hippy-what?"

"His heart?" asked a soft voice. Jareth turned to see Sarah perched atop his desk, wearing the soft gray nightshift with little crystals on it that he'd given her one year for her birthday.

"Heart! That's right, heart!"

The goblins looked at each other, oblivious to the growing tension. "But...that's mean!" A little gray goblin, no bigger than a teacup, scrambled up Sarah's leg to perch on her knee, his bulbous eyes brimming with tears. "Lady Sarah, why you steal Kingy's heart? Don't you have one already?"

Jareth had had just about enough of his interfering subjects. "Out! All of you!"

"But..."

"Kingy!"

"OUT, OR THE BOG!"

The room cleared quickly, though the little goblin was still sniffling and kept giving Sarah heartbroken glances, as if he suspected she had cooked and eaten his favorite chicken.

"So."

"Sarah..."

"He's wrong, you know. I don't have a heart."

Jareth wasn't sure what to make of that statement. She could be cruel, yes, but still. "I..."

"Someone stole mine from me."

"I see."

Sarah slipped off his desk with feline grace and met him halfway across the room. His arms went to her waist, her fingers curled into his hair, and their lips met.

"Awww..."

"Eeeew!"

"Yahee Kingy!"

The goblins hadn't gone very far at all.

"OUT!"

* * *

><p>Lionize: to treat as or make into a celebrity<p> 


	4. Irrefragable

"Pickles."

"Now, my dear..."

"NOW."

Sighing, the King of the Goblins languidly rolled out of bed and disappeared in a cloud of glitter and magic. He reappeared a few moments later with a jar (_large _jar; he learned _that _lesson the hard way) of sliced dill pickles. He carefully filled a small crystal dish and levitated it over to the bed with a dainty silver fork.

The Lady of the Castle sighed in sheer delight as she munched on her midnight snack. "You, sir, are amazing."

"We've established that, I believe," he said, toeing off his boots. He sat down beside her and placed a gentlehand on her still-flat stomach. Warm, bright life pulsed under his hand. "The little one seems active tonight," he murmured.

His wife snorted. "Active...that's a nice way of putting it. I swear, he's swimming laps in there. Kicked my spine...I think that's what woke me up."

There was a flutter of movement under her husband's fingertips, as if the child in her womb was doing exaggerated summersaults in agreement. The king flexed his hand. The child was so small - still barely bigger than his thumb - and yet so full of life and personality. A delicate hand slipped over his, slightly damp and smelling of pickles.

"Jareth," she whispered, drawing her husband up to meet her eyes, "I love you so much."

He chuckled, drawing her close. "Oh, my Sarah, I love you beyond the stars." He planted a tender kiss on her forehead. "Even when you send me on midnight snack runs."

He ignored the elbow to his ribs and laid down. He knew better than to argue with a pregnant woman.

* * *

><p>Irrefragable: impossible to refute<p> 


	5. Pleonasm

"...And thus, we may see how the life of James Joyce affected his view of..."

Sarah's eyes glazed over. Her Modern Lit teacher kept droning on and on in his drawling Southern accent. She had signed up for this class as an elective for her major, hoping that it would split the balance between her family's interests (practical, no-nonsense and coldly academic) and her own (almost flamboyantly fantastic). The first day of class her professor had told them all about his own college experience half a century earlier, railed on the lack of African-American literature in the modern curriculum, and had insisted on going around the room asking students for their favorite modern poet (and scolding those who had never heard of Langston Hughes). It was odd, really; the man was white as the moon, with gray hair to boot, but he was convinced that the African-American culture was a hidden utopia. Sarah could appreciate African-American culture, but she couldn't seem to ignite the level of obsession that would earn her an A in the course.

Professor Laudlin seemed convinced that the only things of value in modern literature came out of either the African-American community or Ireland. Sarah, an English Lit major, wanted very badly to object. Then again, she didn't want to get into an argument about Irish Nationalism with her teacher; trying to explain that she had a supernatural almost-boyfriend with a British accent seemed like a very bad idea. Regardless, the subject matter of the class was interesting, if limited. The professor's monotonous ramblings, on the other hand, were not. Sarah was bored to tears. She took to scribbling bits of stories in the margins of her notebook to keep up the appearance of productive note-taking.

"...Myself, 'What great beast?' I was a-shakin' in my chair! The _emptiness!_ The _darkness!_ Nothing before had ever rattled me that..."

Sarah accidentally knocked her pen off her desk and bent over to retrieve it. When she glanced back down at her notebook, intending to pick up her latest work ('Hoggle and the Fireys, Part 3') where she left off, but the last few words drying in her page margin weren't in her own handwriting. The letters were a bit too big and had an elegant tilt to them; the ink was a shade too dark in contrast to her cheap ballpoint pens. She examined the note a bit closer.

_'Long day?'_

_'You have no idea,'_ she scribbled beneath the mysterious message She was fairly certain no one had leaned over and written on her notebook, but she had long ago learned not to take anything for granted.

"...Really. I'm passing a few copies of Yeats' diagrams illustrating his thousand-year cycle of history, which he..."

Sarah hadn't glanced up for more than two seconds, and there were already several more sentences in the strange, slanting hand.

_'Why, Precious! You know very well that I have many ideas about your day...and how to improve it.'_

Sarah fought a smirk, imagining mismatched eyes dancing with mischief.

_'Really, now. Would this have anything to do with the goblins under Professor Laudlin's desk?'_

_'Perhaps.'_

"...The glorious era of - OOF!"

_'Thanks, Jareth.'_

_'Any time, my dear.'_

* * *

><p>Pleonasm: the use of more words than necessary to express an idea<p>

Professor Laudlin is based on one of my college professors, obsession with Irish and African-American culture and all. Don't get me wrong, the African-American community is great, but focusing on just one or two areas in a Modern Lit class is like pretending a tide pool is an ocean. The worst part? This is a second semester, Senior year Honors class.

In unrelated news, guess what class I was writing this in?

No college professors were harmed in the making of this fanfic.


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